


Warmth

by frozenCinders



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenCinders/pseuds/frozenCinders
Summary: "I'm sensitive to the cold," Kimblee says. "Could you tell?"Miles pointedly ignores him. What he's forgetting is that Kimblee has the power to punish him, even for something so petty. He finds out when he receives the news that he's meant to be sharing a room with Kimblee, all of a sudden.





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm sensitive to the cold," Kimblee says. "Could you tell?"

Miles pointedly ignores him. What he's forgetting is that Kimblee has the power to punish him, even for something so petty. He finds out when he receives the news that he's meant to be sharing a room with Kimblee, all of a sudden.

"This way you can keep an eye on me like you wanted to, right? I'm making accommodations for you." His smile is infuriating.

"Look," Miles starts, reining in the brunt of his annoyance- lucky for him, he always sounds disgruntled. "If you get cold easily, I'll get you extra blankets. If this is about me not answering before, I just... had nothing to say, is all. For you to interpret that as me not caring is..."

Accurate.

"Hasty."

"Oh, this has nothing to do with that," Kimblee assures. As if.

"Then, what?"

"... I told you. I get cold easily. The blankets won't help much when there's barely any body heat to trap."

"So you want mine, then," Miles sighs. He restrains himself so as not to show how bothered he is; that is the _last_  thing he needs, to give Kimblee even more ammunition.

No, clearly he's expecting this not to work. He's bluffing and is probably one quick hand gesture away from calling the order off. He just wants to see Miles lose his temper- shit, maybe even get him fired. That's not happening.

"Alright," he agrees, body language falsely communicating that he's unbothered. "Whatever you need."

God, it kills him to say that. Kimblee is reasonably surprised, the shadow from the brim of his hat failing to hide the way his eyebrows flew up and his eyes widened. With an amused huff, he returns his expression to "normal" and steps closer.

"I'll see you tonight, then."

And he's gone. As Kimblee is walking away, Miles feels like he's going to be sick. Whether he'd been bluffing or not at first, he sure seems to be going through with it. Miles should have known better, trying to outsmart a sociopath. He thought he'd read his poker face, but Kimblee was playing an entirely different card game; one that probably involves the inevitable loser getting undressed.

"Shit," he mutters, and carries on with his day. The distracting thoughts of tonight don't help.

* * *

Miles is reading something when he walks through the door to his room, pausing in the doorway to finish the last paragraph. Then he looks up and recoils at the sight of Kimblee toweling off his hair. At least he's dressed. Fuck, good thing Miles took a couple extra minutes to get to his room or he might have caught him in the act.

"You didn't forget about our little arrangement, did you?"

Kimblee looks odd with his suit off and his hair down. He must be freezing in that tank top, especially since he's damp. That's probably the plan.

"It may have slipped my mind. Momentarily." Which is amazing considering he couldn't get it off his mind for the better part of the day.

"Well, now that you've been reminded..." Kimblee sets the towel aside. "Come do your job."

This is it. Miles had been mentally bracing himself for this all day, as well as what it could potentially lead to. The only question is, how much of his pride can he swallow?

He takes his coat off and hangs it up, as per usual. Then he takes his gloves off and sets them on the table just past the doorway. Then, with just an ounce of hesitation, he removes his uniform until he's in the same state of undress as Kimblee. And the man's eyes are on him all the while.

He keeps his pants on for as long as Kimblee will let him, which will hopefully be all night. With the way his eyes are glued to Miles, however, maybe not.

"You never told me your full name," Kimblee says, prying.

"I didn't," Miles agrees, then returns to silence. Kimblee allows it and moves over as Miles lies down. Figuring he should fake some ounce of enjoyment or the like, Miles beckons Kimblee down to him. He takes the offer with a smug grin.

"The hot water had seeped into my skin, but that wore off quick enough," Kimblee says. Miles hums in acknowledgement.

"It's a welcome reprieve," he says. It's often difficult to find the motivation to get out of the shower in a timely fashion when it's so damn cold outside of that little box.

Kimblee cuddles up to him- god, that's a situation Miles never fucking imagined. The Crimson Alchemist, the slaughterer of his brethren, stealing away his body heat and probably (inevitably, with Miles's luck) half hard mere inches from his thigh, just waiting for the right moment to press against him. Miles clenches his jaw for a short time but relaxes before Kimblee seems to notice.

Alright, time to imagine this thing on his side is someone else. Let's see... Miles went to a bar, picked up a nice girl with pretty eyes and a shy smile, and he convinced her to come back to his place. Kimblee's body absolutely does not match the one in his head; nowhere near as soft and fluffy. Miles runs his hand along Kimblee's arm and feels hardly anything but skin and bones. At least put on some muscle, maybe then Miles can pretend Kimblee is a man he'd actually be into.

Kimblee is staring up at him with something unreadable in his eyes. He's looked at him that way before; when his terrible little smile falls away and he's taking a situation seriously, or even when he's being all smug and irritating, his eyes tend to unsettle Miles. He's used to blue eyes, been in Amestris long enough, but yellow is still a little odd.

Surprisingly, Kimblee behaves himself well enough. All night. Miles is more thankful than he's ever remembered being in his life that Kimblee didn't try anything. He's been dozing off and waking back up for hours now; he's just not used to having someone in bed with him, and certainly not cuddled up to him.

So it's quite predictable when Kimblee getting up in the middle of the night wakes him. Miles half wants to fall asleep and hopefully _stay_  asleep this time, half wants to stay awake in case Kimblee decides to tangle their legs or something. So he rests his eyes for a bit but makes an effort to remain conscious.

Being a Major, someone important, means Miles has one of the few rooms in Briggs with an adjoining bathroom. Kimblee takes a little too long in there. Miles ignores everything he hears; the shuffling of clothes, Kimblee almost certainly leaning against the door and sliding down, the subtle but really not so discreet gasps.

Against his will, Miles imagines what's on the other side of that door. The obvious comes to mind at first, but Miles pushes it away with the insistence that Kimblee is just attempting to remove a very bad splinter. Any second now he'll pop out and ask for help getting off- no, fuck, getting it out, that's what he meant. Miles could lie and say he doesn't have tweezers just to mess with him, make him suffer longer. Kimblee could order Miles to suck it out of him. The splinter must be on his leg if Miles is falling to his knees.

Kimblee tried to be quiet, he really did, but his voice made it into that last gasp and now Miles has the same problem but it's not like he can just follow him in there and do the same. He'll have to put up with it until morning. Ugh, and now if he falls asleep, his dreams will certainly make the problem worse. He's too old for wet dreams.

He hears Kimblee washing his hands and wills himself to doze off again, even if just for a little while. The satisfied purr and the brush of his knee against Miles's groin as Kimblee curls up around him don't help. Kimblee didn't seem to notice him jolt.

When Kimblee is suddenly on top of him, Miles can't tell if he's dreaming or not. He doesn't resist, just lets Kimblee do what he wants; lets him take his cock into his mouth, tries to pretend he doesn't want to see him choke on it and oh, he does a little; quiet whimpers muffled by the cock in his throat. Miles finishes faster than usual and Kimblee licks his lips and those yellow eyes are staring up at him.

When Miles opens his eyes, he's sticky (oh, he didn't swallow?) and alone and Kimblee's clothes are missing from the room. If this happens every night, it's going to be an enormous issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really wanted to squeeze in some actual fucking but i couldn't quite get it to work. i might add a second chapter; you'll know by the telltale changing of the rating from m to e
> 
> addendum: second chapter got written after all


	2. Chapter 2

Miles discovers, both to his relief and chagrin, that what happened last night was a wet dream after all. The proof is in the laundry that Miles dreads to acknowledge. No, he has to rinse that out _now_  before it dries. Thankfully, Kimblee is out of the room and can't catch him and ruin his life.

He turns the faucet off after about ten long minutes. Good enough; only problem is that they're soaked quite conspicuously. He turns the faucet back on and soaks his pants the rest of the way through, then throws them in the hamper. God, all this because Kimblee somehow (purposely, he bets) managed to get him hard last night.

He meets his own eyes in the mirror and feels a little like he's apologizing to a stranger. Sorry for bumping into you and making you drop all those papers, man who looks exactly like me. No, you're apologizing for wanting to fuck the wrong guy, Miles. Ugh.

It disgusts him to word it like that but it feels right to admit it. There's no point wallowing in denial and bad decisions, that's not the Briggs way. Bodies want what they want. Maybe if he sees it as using Kimblee rather than indulging him, he'll feel a little better. That would, however, involve Miles making the next move rather than going along with what Kimblee wants again.

Yeah, maybe he can do that.

* * *

It's night again and Miles is accompanying Kimblee to his room this time, after having kept him company all day. Miles hadn't said much to him and was somewhat certain the awkward atmosphere was only on his part. Once the door is closed behind them, he's finally ready to talk.

"Did you know?" he comes right out and asks. Kimblee turns around to face him, ponytail whipping over to rest on his shoulder.

"Know what, exactly?"

"Don't play dumb. This morning."

Kimblee tilts his head and Miles almost lets himself hope he really didn't notice, but then he smiles knowingly.

Plenty of possibilities occur to him within a few seconds. Tackle him, pin him to the wall or bed? No, that's what he wants. Reach out and gently take his ponytail out? Hell, why doesn't he buy him dinner and gaze lovingly into his eyes, if he's going that route? No, doing what Kimblee wants is his only option. Time to make the first move.

So he grabs Kimblee by the shoulders and pins him to the wall because it's closest. Kimblee's hands are on him, palms ready to blast Miles apart, but he doesn't. The only Ishvalan Kimblee can't kill. And Scar, apparently.

Miles pays for his hesitation by having to hear Kimblee talk again.

"Make your move, Miles," he taunts, and it sounds like he doesn't quite know whether Miles is leaning towards sex or violence.

"That's Major Miles," he corrects. Maybe he's still deciding himself.

"Are you gonna make me call you by your title?"

Emphasis on "make me"; typical. But Miles willingly plays into his hands with a rough kiss that Kimblee immediately leans into. He weaves his hands into Miles's hair, pulls the tie out. Miles considers repaying the favor but just grabs him by the ponytail instead.

"Mm, are you gonna dominate me? Make me acknowledge you as my master?" Kimblee more suggests than asks, really, as Miles guides him to bed.

"Is that what you're into?" Miles deflects.

"Isn't it what you want?" He sounds so sure.

"I want you to shut up for once," Miles says. He kisses Kimblee again and finds that's a good way of keeping him quiet. Well, in terms of words. No matter what Miles does, he'll never keep Kimblee's voice out of his ears for long.

"Are we-" Kimblee tries, but he's too eager to let Miles suffocate him, choosing to let his tongue fill his mouth rather than speak.

He doesn't make any moves to steal dominance away from Miles, just rolls his hips up against him and Miles presses down in response, pinning him. He knows that hum is nothing but pleased.

Miles finally pulls away, resigned to hearing Kimblee's smug voice, and starts working through the layers of his suit. Fuck, Miles still hasn't even taken his coat off, actually. He multitasks, shoves it off his shoulders and tosses it to the floor while still unbuttoning Kimblee's vest.

"How are we doing this, Miles?" He's leaving out his rank on purpose.

"Again, that's _Major_. In fact, just that much will do. And we're doing it my way," he says, throwing in an answer as an afterthought.

"Again," Kimblee echoes, "make me."

"You want it rough, then?"

"Is that your way?" Look at that eager smile. Miles should just get up and leave right now; leave him wanting.

"If you don't shut your mouth, it will be." It's intended as a threat, but of course-

"Ah, then let me read you a bedtime story," he says, the little fucker. "I'll be sure not to leave out any details."

Miles takes Kimblee's tie off and brings his wrists together. Kimblee's eyes widen just like his smile as Miles ties his hands to the bedpost. It's not tight enough to hold him, not really, but Kimblee will probably stay put anyway.

"Aw, now I'm being punished?"

"I thought I told you to shut up."

"Should have used my tie for that, but you decided my hands were more important," Kimblee shrugs. Miles leans in after finally bothering to take his shades off and set them on the nightstand.

"I want to hear you fall apart."

Kimblee gasps, looks just a little vulnerable when he closes his eyes and savors what Miles just told him.

"You want- you want me to- have- nothing but- your name- running through my head- falling off into incoherence-"

Kisses aren't stopping him now; Kimblee doesn't mind the pauses at all now that he has something filthy to say. He pulls against the tie just once.

"My pocket," he says, as if Miles will somehow know _which_  pocket. He must have about twelve. But Miles starts feeling around and finds what he's looking for on the second try.

"You always carry this around?" Miles asks, a little amused. He can't imagine what lubricant can really come in handy for besides this exact situation.

"For a while now, yes."

Of course he's unashamed, that's who he is. His eyes are so clear. Has he ever been uncertain about anything in his life?

Miles pulls Kimblee's upper layers open but can't actually take them off due to his hands being tied. That's fine; if he's so damn sensitive to the cold, he'll probably appreciate it. Kimblee's looking at Miles like he expects to be untied and now Miles knows for sure he doesn't want to bother.

His pants come off with ease, though, along with his shoes. He shivers a little but he's already half hard and trying to work his legs around Miles. He pushes them apart and gives Kimblee a look and he gets a smirk in return but he takes the hint and stops moving.

For all Kimblee's flirting and demanding, he goes quite docile when Miles takes his gloves off and starts feeling around inside of him. His sounds are so... earnest. He thinks Kimblee was probably planning to play it up, but the mask wasn't worth carrying into bed after all.

He's tight as hell and it doesn't seem like that's changing any time soon. Come to think of it, he was in solitary confinement until just recently; probably couldn't indulge in the other prisoners even if he wanted to. But there likely weren't any powerful Ishvalans to piss off in there anyway; nobody his type.

When he's up to three fingers he's barely feeling a difference and is just about to start wondering how much time is worth it before Kimblee is pulling against the tie again.

"Fuck me," he says, somehow maintaining that authoritative look in his eyes even in this position.

"You don't feel anywhere near ready." As if he really cares. Well, maybe a little, just for the sake of not hearing him complain.

"How many men have you been with?" Kimblee asks, but not jealously. Miles takes the hint that he's mistaken and pulls his fingers out.

The sound Kimblee makes when Miles pushes into him is satisfying; a gasp followed by a prolonged whine. Despite everything, and maybe going back to what he thought earlier, Miles gives him some time to adjust. Kimblee doesn't seem very appreciative and moves his hips, trying to encourage Miles to move. So he does, and he obeys when Kimblee almost immediately whimpers for him to go faster.

As Miles is rocking him into the mattress, Kimblee sounds like he's never been fucked before. His arms move, instinctively pulling against the tie, probably wanting to grab at Miles, touch him back. Every time he seems to decide to hold back a little, tries to put more space between his moans, Miles tears them out of his throat. Kimblee's face is so flushed, so satisfied; his eyes are closed and his head is tilted back and his mouth...

Miles kisses him again before he realizes what he's doing. It suddenly feels strange and wrong to him, now that he has no excuse, so he slowly pulls away. Kimblee tries and fails to follow him up but gets over it quickly.

Absently, Miles moves a hand up to rest on Kimblee's throat and pushes down just a little. He makes a broken sound, felt acutely by Miles's hand, and now things seem to be escalating for him. He must love having no control. Miles didn't expect it, but that seems to be the only explanation. Right, he's attracted to power.

Miles speeds up, the bed creaking more loudly by the minute, but Kimblee's voice gets louder too.

"Miles," he moans, only sounding maybe half like himself. Miles gives him a harsh thrust and pulls his hair.

"Mm-m-major," he stutters out in correction, as if he doesn't massively enjoy the punishment. Miles continues fucking him just as hard and the sounds that spill out of him don't sound like Kimblee at all anymore. Kimblee is so slow and careful- _meticulous_  when he talks. Now his voice is a couple octaves higher and he doesn't know how to think anymore.

Miles prefers this Kimblee.

"This was your goal all along, wasn't it?" Miles asks, the hand that isn't tugging Kimblee's ponytail now holding his face. "You want me to fuck you like this every night?"

And he comes just like that, without Miles even deigning to touch him. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted back as far as it'll go and _fuck_  is he tight. He's still letting out little noises, still tangling their legs together, still deliriously riding out his high. Miles fills him up and slows to a halt and suddenly their breathing is the loudest sound in the room.

Miles had expected to feel more regret than he currently does and he allows himself a sigh of relief. Kimblee's hands are free now, Miles notices. Must have undone the knot with alchemy or something when he wasn't paying attention. Again, Kimblee touches Miles, digs around through his clothes to get to his skin so he can rest his palms on him. Maybe it's less of a threat and more of a reassurance. Not "I could kill you" as much as "I won't kill you."

Then he wraps his arms around Miles's neck and pulls him close and... what, is this a hug? Miles allows it for a minute before unwrapping Kimblee's arms and getting up to actually undress now. Kimblee sits up and takes his suit off too- or, well, most of it. His undershirt is half off his shoulder and he leaves it like that on purpose. Miles leans in and bites him there and Kimblee scoffs.

Miles expects him to say something at some point, but Kimblee just lies down and goes still, apparently exhausted. He lies next to him on his back but Kimblee reaches behind himself and grabs Miles's arm and pulls it over him. Miles takes the hint and spoons him and Kimblee purrs just like the previous night.

"There's no love here," Miles tells him. "You know that, right?"

Kimblee just shows him his palm, his lunar array, as if to say "of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i require an intervention for my semicolon problem
> 
> i'd also like to share that i tend to write on my phone, so when i typed "Miles gives him some time," my phone insisted on "Miles gives him some Tylenol"


End file.
